


young tender hearts beat fast

by hupsoonheng



Series: Nuclearstuck [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/F, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Government Agencies, M/M, New York City, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Xeno, Xenobiology, also eridan and gamzee are related, how do you feel about that ao3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hupsoonheng/pseuds/hupsoonheng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a planet earth where trolls are an oppressed minority abandoned by the Alternian Empire, Rose Lalonde works for the Bureau of Troll Affairs, trying to win rights for trolls from the inside. Instead, she's assigned to be the next babysitter for a fishy princess with a savior complex and a taste for human blood, who's been kept secret from the entire earthbound troll race her entire life. </p><p>And Dave Strider? All Dave wants is to get his kismesis back from the Grand Highblood himself. No matter the cost. </p><p>sequel to love and caring</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i am probably too fast for my own good! oh well. more female characters in this fic, because the last one was too dude-heavy! but do not despair, the gamdave tale will not fade.

Your world is a limited one, though you have to admit it’s not too terrible. You get five small meals a day, and you get the run of the aquarium they’ve built for you. Most of your visitors and benefactors are small, kind of soft, and come in a variety of shades between pink and brown. They like to come and watch you swim, and sometimes they ask you questions. Some of them even like to hold conversations with you. 

Your caretakers, on the other hand, look a little bit more like you—tall, grey, with horns in a brilliant orange gradient. They don’t have your fins or your gills, though, which you know to be a sign of their inferiority, so you give them the respect they deserve by routinely ignoring them or telling them just what you think of their physiology. They blush in greenish tones when you call them some of your more horrid names, and then you tell them what you think of that color, too. 

The only one of your kind you don’t hate is a sea dweller like you, his blood pulsing violet under his thick grey skin. His horns are jagged peaks in comparison to your long sleek curves, and sometimes he comes to swim with you, albeit under human watch. He calls you Princess, and tells you that’s not just a nickname. You’re almost his size now, at the age he calls “ten sweeps”. Sometimes he also calls you his daughter, even though he tells you that’s not quite right. 

Dualscar is the only troll you may ever love. 

The humans in your life tell you that outside of your ~~cage~~ home, your kind number in the thousands. Millions, even. And they tell you that your kind is a destructive, awful race that’s only here because of a failed invasion. You are one of the few good ones, and unfortunately for your own safety you must be kept hidden from the rest of your species. Dualscar and your greenblood caretakers are the only trolls allowed to know you exist; Dualscar would never give you up, but the moldbloods aren’t so trustworthy so they live on the premises. You are assured they will be destroyed on sight if they ever attempt to leave. At times you’re tempted to encourage them to try to escape, just so they’ll die. 

All in all, you don’t know why you’re kept alive. You’re a specimen in a tank and you know it, and some days you beat yourself against the glass just for a change of pace, which upsets the humans. They keep trying to convince you of how important you are. You only believe it when there’s no consequences for you killing one of them. Their blood makes red swirls in the water of your aquarium, and Dualscar has whispered to you before what the color red means. 

They all need to die. 

*

“Princess Feferi,” the human across the table says, nodding to you in slight deference. 

“Bloodsack,” you greet in return, flashing your many sharp teeth. She’s used to it, though, and just leans forward as she settles her netbook on the table. 

“How are you doing this week?” Her fingers alight on the keys, waiting for your answer, as if it’s so important. 

“I hate you and I’m going to kill your entire species.” You lean back, grinning, but she still doesn’t flinch. Kudos to her. 

“Are your caretakers treating you alright?” She asks the same damn questions every week. 

“They’re an inferior subspecies and one of these days I’m going to drown all of them.” You’ve actually managed to drown one of the moldbloods before, and they had the caretakers keep their distance after that. 

“It’s Dualscar who keeps teaching you these things, isn’t he?” Your interviewer’s eyes narrow as she continues to type. 

“Dualscar is a very wise troll who’s actually seen the surface of Alternia, unlike the rest of the miserable inhabitants of this dirt ball.” You pretend to be very interested in your nails. 

“So that’s a yes.” 

“What do you think?” you ask with a smirk. Humans are so _dull_ witted.

“In that case, he can kiss his visitation rights goodbye,” she sighs, clacking away before seemingly hitting Enter with some finality. “What he did was treasonous, and to be honest I’m not sure if the American government will want to see him staying alive.” 

“What—no! No no no, take it back, undo whatever you just did!” you snarl, reaching across the table to maul the netbook—and the chain around your neck pulls you back like a leash. 

“If you want him to keep his visitation rights, Miss Fef? Then you’re going to have to shape up. If you want to take your anger at being confined out on the greenblood caretakers, fine, there’s always more where they came from.” She fixes you with a steely look. “But you need to remember that humans are your allies on this ‘dirt ball’. If we let you out, how long do you think you’d really last? You’re big and strong, Feferi, but against the literal horde of trolls out there, you don’t stand a chance.” 

With a sigh you lay your head down on your crossed arms on the table. “I know, Ms. Alma. I know.” You still hate all humans, but you do like her. You don’t even try to snap her hand off when she pets your hair and horns. 

“I’m sorry we have to keep you cooped up like this, baby. It’s for your own good, you know that, right?” Alma’s been here your whole life, and she’s the only human who’s ever treated you like your own person. You might even have loved her if she were a sea dwelling troll like you. 

“Yes.” You sniffle a little bit, and she pushes your hair away from your face so she can stroke your cheek once or twice. 

“Is there anything you want special this week?” 

“Octopus,” you say in a small voice, and when you look up Alma’s smiling at you, which makes your bloodpusher swell. 

“Alright, Miss Fef, you can have octopus. That’s no trouble at all.” Some more clacking, and then she shuts the netbook. “I’m gonna go for now, but if you want me you know what to do.” You glance at the intercom by the door, and nod. “Oh, and Feferi?” she adds, pausing just before she leaves. “You’re going to have a new visitor this week. An intern,” she says with a certain amount of disdain. “The Bureau is being stupid and sending us kids fresh out of college to get to know you, but don’t worry.” One last smile. “We know where she lives.” 

And with that, she’s gone, leaving you to consider what this “intern” might be like. 

* 

“I have a part time job, Dave, I’m fine,” you assure your brother one more time as you peel away the last of his bandages. His flesh wounds are finally healed up into some decent-looking scars, although you have to nag him into doing his rehab exercises for his shoulder. “And I live with Kanaya, she’s not going to leave me in the lurch.” 

“Kanaya’s a troll, how much dough can she actually make?” Dave asks, not unreasonably, but you flick him in the shoulder anyway and he yelps. “Come on, Rose!” 

“Kanaya makes a decent living at the Bureau, and together we can definitely pay the rent,” you say, a bit more primly than you meant to. “I’m more worried about you. You haven’t been able to really work much for weeks.” 

“Bro’s been helping me out,” he mutters as he puts his shirt back on, ginger and slow. “And John gave me some money before he went back to LA.” 

“Dave,” you sigh, flopping onto his couch. “Have you actually called your job?” 

“Yes, Christ! I’m an adult just like you, Rose, fuck off!” He fumes as he sits down next to you. “They said it’s fine, especially now that I’m out of the sling and can probably go back to work more often. Besides, the club wouldn’t be the same without the fine beats of DJ Godhead Strider.” 

“I can’t believe you picked that name.” 

“DJ Stridenasty was worse, though, you gotta admit.” 

“I do admit that.” Your silences are never awkward, you tell yourself. Your silences are _elegant_. “Look, it’s an internship. This is what I’ve been studying for for years. And if it really goes south, well, you’ll just have to deal with giving up your bed to your sister, won’t you?” 

“That’s harsh, Rose. We shared a womb.” 

“Yes, but you sprawl.” Dave huffs and digs the remote out of the couch, and turns the TV on to find a Wife Swap marathon is happening. And the bastard immediately hides the remote so you can’t do anything about it. You do admit, though, it’s a nice, mindless way to relax before you go back to the internship tomorrow. After all, you’ve been there six weeks now, and you’ve been told you’re getting bumped up to a new level. 

All in all, you’re pretty excited.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's harley time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ahhhh more fanart?!](http://princessofinsomnia.tumblr.com/post/28402913214/fake-doujin-cover-for-my-friends-awesome)
> 
> from my friend princessofinsomnia who is getting so many e-smooches for this
> 
> i'm glad so many people like this ;~; i'm having a lot of fun writing it!

All in all, you’re pretty sad to see your cousin go; you really do love hanging out with John! And Karkat is okay, he’s just, wow, exhausting. When they both come over, Karkat can’t keep his voice down, which freaks Bec out, and then it takes what feels like a thousand years to stop the barking. 

So actually, you’re kind of relieved John’s gone and taken his trollfriend with him. You don’t know how he does it; you’ve never really seen the appeal of blackrom. You drop a hand to scratch behind Bec’s ears, thinking about just how to answer your coworker’s email about the current project. A pesterchum tab pops up, though, and when you lean forward to check it out it’s Dave. 

 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] -- 

TG: ay girl lemme holla atcha  
GG: what if i said no! :0  
TG: obviously i would be devastated  
TG: all screaming and crying to the sky  
TG: dear lord why me  
GG: yeah john is right, you waste tons of time. :|  
TG: why are you like this  
GG: why can’t you get to the point!!  
TG: ok fine jesus  
TG: you like adventure right  
GG: im an adult, dave.  
TG: so is that a yes because i thought the point of growing up was to be able to go on grand adventures without mommy and daddy fencing us in with rules and curfews and shit  
GG: what is it you want? :|  
TG: stop with the emoticon of judgment holy shit  
TG: dont tell me youre immune to strider charms  
GG: i dont think theres a cure for that actually!  
TG: thats what i thought  
GG: haha okay :) but seriously!! you want something. so spill it!!  
TG: this is what im saying see  
TG: youre my goto adventure gal  
TG: and ive got an adventure in mind  
GG: oh? :0  
TG: yeah a search and rescue kind of deal  
GG: dave...  
TG: what  
GG: is this what john was warning me about? :/  
TG: i dont know what the fuck you could mean by that, what has that charming little fuckface been saying  
GG: look, i know it hurts but youre going to have to move on.  
TG: hes in fucking newark not the moon harley  
TG: i thought you would be cool about this  
GG: i am cool! about everything!! but not about possibly getting my cousin’s best friend killed by homicidal district trolls.  
TG: whoa okay number one stop with the generalizations about our grey buddies ok  
TG: number two the term wouldnt be homicidal anyway jade come on now i thought you were the smart one  
TG: if they kill me it would just be humancide or something  
GG: :|  
TG: what omfg  
GG: youre just going to keep spamming me about this arent you!!  
TG: is that a chance you really wanna take harley  
TG: is it  
TG: what if my spamming you about this issue is actually what ends the world  
TG: can you take that weighing on your conscience  
GG: no because id be dead like everyone else!! ridiculous  
TG: ridiculous like a fox  
GG: you and john were made for each other omg. :V  
TG: whoa a new emote who up and taught you that  
GG: who -up and taught- you to talk like that, hmmmmm??  
TG: oh for fucks sake shut up and help me jade  
GG: hahaha! :) you are so easy to trip up.  
GG: okay fine. i guess i’ll come over there since you’re the invalid and all.  
TG: my arm is out of the sling by now and anyway it was my left shoulder that got popped ok  
TG: i have always been capable of swiping a goddamn metrocard  
TG: and i am sick and fucking tired of looking at this apartment holy shit  
TG: im coming over there and dont you say otherwise ok  
GG: okay fine!! jeez dave! see you in a million years when you finally get here.  
TG: its fucking astoria calm down  
TG: its not like you live in neverland  
GG: just leave already!!  
TG: fine JEEZ

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] -- 

 

When he arrives, the first thing you do is comment on his hair, because you explicitly remember that stupid gumby and when he got it, and now it’s been trimmed down into a modest little flat top. 

“I got Tav to do it for me, he’s got a pretty steady hand,” is all he’ll say about it, grumbling as he runs a hand over it; it looks like he grew out the texturizing, too. It hits you that you don’t want to ask why, though, and you drop it. 

“So what exactly does Mister Dave Strider have in mind for a ‘search and rescue mission’, hmmm?” you ask, rooting around for a hairband as Dave makes himself comfortable on your couch. 

“You’re the master of adventure, you tell me,” he says, right before you smack the remote out of his hand. 

“Rose warned me about your TV habits,” you tell him, pursing your lips as you scoop your hair up into a ponytail. “I will destroy the earth before I let you put on Toddlers & Tiaras in _my_ home.”

“Those kids are hilarious,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t go for the remote again. “Anyway, I was thinking, you know, bust in! Grab Gamzee! Make some kind of technologically advanced getaway!” He pauses, looking uncertain. “I mean, look, I’m not the plan guy here. That’s why I came to you.” 

You make a face. “Yeah, well, that wasn’t your smartest choice, Dave. It’s not that simple! The district has rules, and so do we.” 

“Were they fucking abiding by the rules when they kidnapped me and Tav, and used us as collateral to force Gamzee back into the district? You know, and lose his apartment?” He leans forward, fixing you with a determined look. 

“You didn’t wanna call the cops,” you remind him. “But either way it’s easier for a troll to suddenly move into a district than it is for them to move out. You know they have to prove they’ve been successfully medicated for 60 days before they can move out, right?” 

“No,” he mutters, scratching the side of his head as he looks away. “But I mean, that’s bullshit, it’s only been a few weeks—”

“It’s been over a month, Dave. He’d have to go through the 60 day waiting period all over again to get out legally.” 

“It’s not like they can prove he’s moved back to the district.” Dave looks like he’s sinking further and further into your loveseat. 

“He’s chipped, Dave, didn’t he ever tell you that?” you ask, starting to get exasperated. It’s like Dave lost ten years of maturity with his stupid hate-boyfriend out of his life. 

“What— _no?_ He told _you_ that? I didn’t even know he ever talked to you!” He’s spluttering, wincing when he ends up resting too much weight on his bad shoulder. 

“Well no, of course not! Karkat told me. Honestly, Dave!” You sigh, turning from side to side in your computer chair. “If you want my advice, though, go to Kanaya. Look for the _legal_ solutions first, you dumb butt.” 

“A dumb butt! I’m wounded, Harley, I’ve never been called a dumb butt before. I might never recover.” 

“—And _then_ you come to me, if none of that pans out,” you finish, rolling forward a little to flick the tip of his nose. “Let me finish, jeez!” 

“So you’re saying if Kanaya’s got no answers for me, then you’ll legit help me bust Gamzee out double-oh-seven style?” You can tell from years of experience that he’s trying not to grin. Especially after his outburst a minute ago, he’s trying hard to salvage his poker face. The one you don’t care about in the least, and he knows it, so you don’t know why he’s trying. 

“I didn’t say double-oh-seven,” you say with a sniff. “James Bond is too subtle. The Matrix is better. Lots of heavy artillery.” 

“You’re one weird kid,” Dave says, as if you weren’t both born in the same year. 

“That’s rich. Tell Tavros I said hi, by the way,” you say as you rise, looking at him to do the same. 

“Oh, what, you’re kicking me out already? But I’m an invalid,” Dave says, collapsing into a melodramatic sprawl across both cushions, which he doesn’t fit on at all at six foot one. “You can’t do this to me, Harley!” 

“Says the man who insisted he could swipe a metrocard just fine to get up here,” you say, tugging at his T-shirt. “Come on, Dave, I’ve got work to do or I wouldn’t make you leave.” 

“Cruel,” Dave says with a big overwrought sigh. “But fine, I’ll just go straight to your ex’s place _just_ to tell him you said hi.” 

“That’s not what I meant! Ughh, Dave! You’re ridiculous!” You end up pushing Dave out the door like the hall is an overstuffed suitcase and he’s the swimsuit you almost forgot to bring. 

You’re pretty sure nothing is going to come of this; Dave’s stupid ideas are just that. Stupid. And you really didn’t mean to give him any hope; Rose already warned you about that. 

Still, it’s fun to think about. You open your closet full of mostly-legally acquired weaponry, and contemplate just which rifle might best take out a fifteen foot tall murderous clown-alien from another planet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> petufef or fefulant which do you prefer

“It’s just another work day like any other,” you keep saying, although at this point you’re not sure if you’re telling Kanaya, or reminding yourself. “I’m just going in, getting my new assignment, and doing the best I possibly can. As ever.” 

“You know that’s poppycock,” Kanaya says as she beats your behind with the lint roller. “Really, Rose, you’ll probably be meeting new supervisors today, and you want to tell me you’re alright with showing up covered in... What _is_ this?” 

“Jade’s dog’s hair is universal,” you deadpan as you stare at yourself in the mirror. “I don’t know how he does it. It’s like he teleports into my closet just to shed white dog hair everywhere, and then zaps back before I can catch him at it.” 

“It’s because you let that infernal creature in when Jade comes to visit, I don’t know why she doesn’t leave that thing at home,” Kanaya mutters. “Sometimes I think you let it happen just so I can spank you with the lint roller.” 

“Is that what you were doing? I thought you said you were helping me get ready for work,” you say, a smirk twitching at the corner of your mouth. 

“Can’t I do both?” Kanaya says, right near your ear, and you don’t need to see her face—you _hear_ the smirk in _her_ voice. 

She makes you almost late for work. 

The Bureau of Troll Affairs is headquartered in DC, like most agencies of its kind, but it has a New York base, too, the better to stay close to New Alternia 5. In fact, there are bases in major cities near all eight troll districts; the United States government likes to keep close tabs on its most volatile residents. District trolls don’t get the honor of being called _citizens_. The New York offices are in midtown, also like most things of its kind, but when you arrive to work your supervisor tells you to keep your purse on your shoulder, because you’re all taking a trip to Governor’s Island. 

While your superiors choose to sit inside, you lean up against the front rail, enjoying the almost-spray. You know Governor’s Island has been converted to some kind of facility in the last 20 years or so, but it’s kept secret—this ferry is the only one that goes there now, controlled by the Bureau. 

As you approach the island, the first thing you notice is armed guards. Their guns are big, laser rifles meant for something bigger than your standard human prisoner. Anti-troll weaponry. There’s electrified fencing up, too, and maybe most unnerving of all you see sentry towers, with mounted artillery. One of them has an added cannon-looking device that you’d rather not think about. 

Up close, the laser rifles are sleeker than you imagined. You remember seeing one as a child, in the hands of a riot cop during some of the worst parts of 90s anti-troll legislation. Back then, it had been bulky, an enormous backpack of a power cell hooked up to a blocky contraption of a firing mechanism. (You’ve heard that was a major step up from the 70s prototypes.) The ones in the hands of the guards today are smooth, narrow rectangles with rounded corners, and a little energy pack strapped to the hip. You try not to think of when you saw that old laser rifle in action, and hurry past into the building. 

Once inside, you sign paper after paper, agreeing to multiple layers of confidentiality. It goes so fast you don’t even really get time to read just what you’re signing, which makes you nervous. You see metal walls and doors everywhere—this place clearly wasn’t built with aesthetics in mind. You walk, sign, and get led through a locked gate several times in that order until it’s been an hour since you entered the building. You’re tired and a little confused, unsure of what they even want with you here anymore. You almost wonder if maybe they don’t like how many trolls you consort with, especially Kanaya, and this is their extremely roundabout way of killing you. 

And then the smell of saltwater hits your nose. 

When you look up, at first all you can register is massive amounts of black hair and two long parentheses of orange keratin. Then the owner of these parts dips down lower in the aquarium, and you’re greeted with a heart-shaped angry grey face full of needle teeth. “Is this the ‘intern’?” the troll asks, their hands slamming up against the glass nearest you as they grin. 

“That’s right, Miss Feferi,” says a neat brown woman in a grey suit, who was already in the room. “Feferi, this is Rose Lalonde, the Bureau’s new intern.” The woman gestures toward you. “Ms. Lalonde, this is Feferi, the,” and she cracks a sardonic little smile, “ _rose_ of the Governor’s Island facility.” 

You don’t react to her joke. 

“You’re a darker color than the other fleshbags in this place,” Feferi says through the glass, her voice oddly garbled by the water. You can see gills fluttering on each side of her neck. “Your hair looks different, too.” You try not to glare. Some “rose of the facility,” you think. 

“You’ll have to forgive Feferi, she thinks being impertinent will get her more attention,” the woman says as she waves dismissively in Feferi’s direction. It’s strange how maternal she is toward this troll. “My name is Alma Zapata, with a Z—”

“I know how to spell in Spanish,” you interrupt, trying not to be too cold. The strained smile you give her probably doesn’t help much in that respect. 

“—But you can just call me Alma,” she finishes, arching her brows. “Roll back the attitude, kid, or you won’t get very far in the Bureau.” 

“I apologize,” you say, as demurely as you can muster up on the spot. Bureaucrats think every bit of emotion is an attitude, you think. 

“Apology accepted,” Alma says, and then she surprises you by dismissing your supervisors and all but one guard. “Sit down, Ms. Lalonde.” You obey, sitting at the single table in the room. You try and fail not to notice the chains by the legs of one of the chairs. Alma pulls up a seat, avoiding that particular one, and arranges herself pretty comfortably. 

“Here’s the thing,” she says quietly, ignoring Feferi who’s currently smearing a long fuschia-tinted tongue along the glass of the aquarium. “Don’t look at her, she’s just trying to get your attention. The thing is, the Bureau’s decided that they don’t like how anti-human Feferi’s gotten.” 

“What do you mean, ‘gotten’?” you ask, furrowing your brow as you pointedly ignore Feferi’s obscene gesture over Alma’s shoulder. 

“Wait. Did they not brief you at all?” Alma asks in return, looking frustrated. “Did they seriously bring you here without filling you in on _anything?_ ” 

“They made me sign a tall stack of confidentiality agreements for about an hour before they whisked me in here,” you say with a sigh. “Can I gather from context that Feferi has been raised in captivity, though?” 

Alma gives you a sharp look. “Well, at least they didn’t send me a stupid one. Yes, Feferi’s the only troll in the United States to be raised within a facility. And the only troll we know of with her blood color.” Feferi’s started whanging her shoulder into the glass, and Alma heaves an enormous sigh. “Fred, we’re going to get some coffee, do you want anything?” she says, loud enough for the guard to hear, as she gets to her feet. She motions for you to do the same. 

“I’m alright, Ms. Zapata, thanks,” Fred the guard says with a big grin. “I’ll make sure the princess doesn’t crack her cage, don’t you worry.” He waves his rifle in a way that you assume is meant to be reassuring. 

“Alright then, we’ll be back in five,” Alma says, waving you along as you follow her out of the room. You can hear a quick tattoo of knuckles on glass as you leave, and then Alma shuts the door behind you both. There’s no one in the hallway as you walk. 

“It’s gotten to the point where I’m the only human Feferi will tolerate, and considering her life expectancy far exceeds mine, they don’t like that.” She turns the corner almost too quickly for you to realize at first. “Of course, it’s not _my_ fault they let that degenerate Dualscar in here to play Monster Daddy to her—”

“Dualscar?” you ask, trying to disguise the fact that you just interrupted her by saying it softly. The name sounds familiar. 

“The only aquatic troll who came down from Alternia in the 50s,” Alma explains, still looking ahead. “He says he’s some kind of nobility, or was anyway, and other Alternian trolls corroborated at least this story.” She smirks. “He’s prone to making himself out to be way more than he actually is, so we have to do our fact checking when it comes to him.” Another quick turn, and she’s letting you into a small room with a few pieces of upholstered furniture, and a coffee station. 

“The point, Ms. Lalonde, is that the Bureau is being its usual slow-moving self and is only now deciding to try and adjust Feferi’s behavioral problems, of which there are many. I mean,” she says as she moves toward the coffee machine, “ _many_. That’s where you come in.” 

“I’m just an intern,” you say with the modesty expected of someone of your status, as you sit down on a rather modern-looking white couch. Of course, _you_ know that you’re brilliant beyond your years, but you’ve learned that a lot of people find it off-putting for you to say as much. 

“For one thing, they think that bringing in someone of similar numerical age to Fef might let you connect to her more. For another, they’ve got some kind of crackpot theory that she needs someone who isn’t a figure of authority to relate to.” You can see just what Alma thinks of that in the way she rolls her eyes. “If you can be strong and take none of her shit, pardon my French, you might just be able to handle her.” 

“And you expect this of an _intern?_ Pardon my everything,” you snort. “I’m very flattered—” 

“If you accept, you’ll start getting a paycheck.” Alma stares at you flatly. “The Bureau doesn’t want any trouble.” She takes a napkin, and a pen from an inside pocket of her jacket, and scribbles something down before passing it to you. “How’s that look for compensation for dealing with a bratty alien princess?” 

Your eyes widen considerably before you get some control back, and with pursed lips you fold the napkin in half and tuck it into your purse. “Adequate,” is all you say, because anything else and you might just actually thank her. 

“Alright then,” Alma says, grinning as she mixes half-and-half into her coffee. “Did you want any coffee, by the way? Feel free to help yourself.” 

“I had some this morning,” you demur, putting up a hand. “But thank you.” 

Over the course of the day you sign more paperwork, though you get to read it this time, and your information is imported and integrated from the main office’s network into the facility’s system. Alma briefs you on things ranging from Feferi’s favorite foods, to Dualscar’s allowed visiting hours (and her opinion of letting that particular little tradition live on), to the greenblood caretakers that Feferi likes to abuse. You make a mental note to see if you can’t talk to these greenbloods in private, although you’re not sure what you expect to get out of them. 

Most importantly, however, you learn that Feferi’s knowledge of her own species outside of this facility is greatly warped, and that it needs to stay that way. You try not to frown—your opinion will get you nowhere, here. The Tyrian princess has been taught that if she ever leaves the facility, trolls finding out about her existence will seek to kill her. You suppose that’s one way of ensuring she stays in her cage. 

You’re not naive. You can see what Feferi could have meant to her people, had she not been brainwashed and twisted into some petulant monster with a universal bloodlust. And Alma tells you that you’ll be alone with Feferi much of the time, with the guard posted _outside_ the door for maximum trust on the troll’s part. 

You might just have a plan.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh no eridan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [narco has struck another blow](http://narcoleptic95.tumblr.com/post/28575757458/fef-is-a-precious-baby) for the great fanart machine! :D aghh look at precious murderous fef and the octopus she asked for
> 
> also of much less interest [i added tavros to that height ref thing i've been doing](http://soporhugs.tumblr.com/post/28643773770/ok-so-updated-height-ref-for-nukestuck-i-think)? idk nerdy shirts and flip-flops seem like a tav thing
> 
> anyway sorry for the one-night delay! laziest author on ao3, obviously it's me, so to make up for it have some complications

The Upper Bay is one of at least a few reasons you hate coming back to the city. The water is filthy, and you can see the garbage bobbing in it. You don’t like to sink to riding with humans (that’s how you’d like to think of it, anyway) and most small watercraft that allows trolls onboard in this area are subpar. It’s better than swimming in that muck, though, and you shudder to think of what that would feel like in your gills. 

But you’ve heard that your most favored clutchmate has returned to the fold, so to speak. You’re just coming back to say hello, of course; it’s not like you’d ever use that as an excuse to try and cozy up to at least one of your progenitors, even if the Grand Highblood displays even less interest in you than Dualscar. 

Most trolls never come to know their parents, and don’t care, but there’s a handful that get the chance and you think it’s kind of cool. Or you would, if you could get either of them to give a shit about you. You don’t understand how Equius has it so easy with Darkleer. It doesn’t seem fair. 

You don’t like dealing with humans in the city. You live out by Ni’ihau in the Pacific because it’s somewhere you can actually breathe underwater, and because there are hardly any humans, which means you can live on land undetected. The thought of the Bureau in your life is both loathsome and horrifying. It baffles you as to why Dualscar puts up with them. 

If you could, you would jump off at Manhattan and go swim up the Passaic, but to be honest it’s about as nasty, and you’re not sure you _don’t_ believe the rumors that the Passaic has mutagenic properties. You already miss Hawai’i. 

An hour later you’re filling out visitor’s paperwork at the gate to New Alternia 5, grumbling about how you went to nursery here and you’re not a glubbing visitor, but Yorrel just reminds you gently that everybody has to fill out the paperwork. You have doubts. 

This place is a fucking slum in comparison to that which you’ve grown accustomed. Of course, you’ve heard that this is actually one of the nicest, cleanest districts; when the awful film District 9 was made, you heard the alien shantytown was based on Districts 4 and 6—where Tavros and Karkat had come up, respectively. It doesn’t matter, though, because to you this is still the nastiest place you’ve ever been. 

You remember vaguely where Gamzee’s hive is, although you have to say it’s most useful that someone’s tagged it with a big smiling purple clown face. You’re not sure what to make of that, and you frown as you touch the dried paint drips. 

“Yo fishbro, what business you all up and got with Gamzee?” a voice rings out, and you turn to find a clown-faced purpleblood lurking across the street. This place is fucking overrun with these purple assholes. 

“None o’ yours, is what business I got,” you snap over your shoulder, though you still put your hand down. “Fuck off, lowblood.” 

“You got your walk on in the wrong lawnring, motherfucker,” the purpleblood says with a smirk, “to be all up and callin’ _my_ ass a lowblood.” 

“See the fins? I’m fuckin’ royalty, what are you? Some fuckin’ cultist. Piss off.” You bang on Gamzee’s door, and the purpleblood just cackles. 

“That won’t do you not a lick of good, fishbro,” he says, but it looks like he’s decided you’re boring because he lopes off into the mist that’s settled in this horrible place. 

He’s got a point, though; you stand there like an idiot for another 20 minutes whanging on Gamzee’s door before you give up. Maybe he’s so fucking stoned he’s gone deaf, for all you know. You’ve never liked these fucking clown cultists. When you make a similar attempt at the Grand Highblood’s massive door, that gets you nothing, either. You feel someone watching you, and you growl in exasperation because you’ve had it up to fucking here with these literal, actual bozos. 

Except when you turn around, it’s Equius. When you were all in single digit sweeps, he’d been pretty big, definitely strong, but as an adult he’s like a goddamn tank. You’ve heard he almost never cuts his hair, and right now you believe it, looking at that thick black braid swinging so low it probably smacks him on the ass when he runs. 

“That won’t get you anywhere,” he tells you, and you bare your teeth at him, eyes narrowed. 

“So I’ve fuckin’ heard,” you snap, which makes him sigh. “Oh shut up, Eq, you live in the real world where people are gonna curse.” 

“I live in New Alternia 5,” he says delicately. “I would say that escapes the classification of ‘the real world.’”

“Oh, real smart, aren’t ya,” you sneer, and look at the Grand Highblood’s door again. “What is goin’ _on_ today?”

“It’s not my place to know,” Equius says with another sigh. “If you seek your forebears, I do believe Dualscar may actually be within the district limits today.” 

“Really?” you ask, and you can feel your face lighting up. Oops, oh well. 

“He goes out on government-sanctioned excursions from time to time, but yes, I think he’s home today,” he says, shifting from foot to foot. “You, er, shouldn’t look for Gamzee, though,” he adds. 

“And why the fuck not?” Your mood reverts to sour just like that. 

“I only wanted to warn you,” he says, and starts heading down the road, in aggravatingly enough the direction you need to go to get to Dualscar’s. You hate this cryptic bullshit, and you jog to catch up to his leisurely pace. 

“Stop with the bullshit, Eq,” you growl. Wow, his every step is worth at least two of yours, and it’s not like you’re some little wriggler. “Come on.” 

“Drop it,” he says with such airy finality that you do. Even if his station in life is below yours, you really don’t want to get broken in half. 

He ends up being your guide to Dualscar’s hive. It’s not many trolls, honestly, that gets hives all to themselves—most of these purpleblood hyenas that run wild in NA5 live in crowded hivestems. Dualscar’s is almost as big as the Grand Highblood’s, although you attribute that to the fact that purplebloods are just massive beasts, and the Grand Highblood in particular needs the headspace. 

When you turn to begrudgingly thank him for walking you to the hive, he’s Batmanned away, and you’re not sure how he manages to do that with all the bulk he carries. What a fucking weirdo. You knock on Dualscar’s door, and the force of your knuckles actually pushes the door open an inch or two. You step back immediately, expecting your parent on the other side, but the door doesn’t move anymore and you steadily open it the rest of the way yourself. You peek around the edge of the door—definitely no one home. Why didn’t Dualscar lock his door? 

Of course, there’s the fact that subjugglators don’t steal from each other or from violetbloods, one of the only decent rules in their stupid sect. Maybe Dualscar’s been living with these fuckfaces so long he actually sort of trusts them. You certainly wouldn’t. 

It’s only when you find his studyblock that you find anything unexpected, and really, this takes the grubcake. 

There’s a corkboard mounted on the wall, and there you find pinned ancient Polaroids of a young seadwelling troll that isn’t you. Actually, some of these aren’t even that old, even if they still use Polaroid film, and you can see this troll is an adult now, you guess maybe a sweep younger than you if at all. What’s confusing you is that when the camera is close enough to see her eye color, you can see a shade brighter and pinker than your own violet blood—a shade you’ve never seen. On each photo you see a name (Feferi) with dates and little notes (“daughter’s first kill!” “daughter’s first eye tint” “daughter sleeps in tank, so silly!”). It looks like Dualscar’s handwriting, certainly, but you’re having a hard time believing this sap is the same murderous general who so aptly took on the title of _Orphaner_. 

It doesn’t take you long to realize why Dualscar has always ignored you. Feferi is your replacement. 

Rage fills you up with each photo you look at next. There’s some kind of outdated, claw-scratched PDA device sitting on the desk and you snatch it up. If Dualscar went out for a walk, that’s his problem for leaving the door open, and for casting you aside for some mutant mystery troll to boot. You snag a photo off the corkboard as well, and storm out before your parent gets back. 

You’ve got business with this bitch, now, and you don’t think anybody’s going to like how it ends.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey remember dave? and tavros? yeah, those two.
> 
> enjoy brief manpain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [oh look i finally drew nukestuck rose! (and also colored in dave finally)](http://soporhugs.tumblr.com/post/28772392889/albino-dave-and-non-albino-fraternal-twin-sister)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> i was going to draw twists all around her head originally, but then i got tired of the twists that fast and just shaved the rest of her head. once i get a few more characters complete, i'll post a more comprehensive height ref! :D

Your head is fucking pounding. Your own blood weighs heavy on one of your eyelids, where it threatens to slide into your eye and partially blind you. There’s blood smeared across your face, your knuckles, and it’s not all red, either. Your lungs feel like they have icicles inside, stabbing you with each labored breath. 

The next punch lays you out, but in your defense you lasted ten fucking rounds. That’s at least a personal record. 

You have a hard time getting up, but you curse out anyone who comes near you to help and you finally limp upstairs to the bathroom to clean yourself up, patch whatever needs it. It was probably stupid to keep coming back when Gamzee’s not here—everything here reminds you of him—but without him there’s a certain visceral quality missing in your life. Not that any of these assholes can fight worth a damn. There’s not a lot of purplebloods in the tri-state, considering most of them flock to the Grand Highblood in Newark and stay there. Most of the trolls you fight in that fetid basement are midbloods at best, their strength not much greater than a human’s, and the humans that step into the ring with you are pathetic by comparison. 

Your phone takes a vibrating stroll across the bathroom counter where you put it down. It’s John on Pesterchum mobile. 

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] -- 

EB: dave!  
EB: dave pay attention!  
EB: dave i have stuff to say  
EB: dave! ugh i know you’re there!  
EB: unless you’re not there, and are actually exactly where you said you wouldn’t be.  
EB: if you were a normal person you might be asleep, but ha.  
EB: who am i kidding? you’re you.  
EB: i think you’re actually a vampire or some other immortal soulless creature that never sleeps.  
EB: dave will you fucking answer already! 

 

Instead, you take some more time to clean out the ugly scrape on your shoulder from where you skidded across the unfinished basement floor. 

 

EB: you are a huge jerk right now, you know that?  
EB: oh my god i know exactly what you’re doing, you promised me!  
EB: we’re not friends anymore if you don’t answer in the next 60 seconds.  
EB: dave i’m breaking up with you.  
TG: oh you mean again  
EB: oh finally! jesus christ  
EB: and i didn’t mean it like that, jeez dave.  
TG: i know  
TG: calm down egbert  
EB: dave. are you at that house? with the bullshit ‘fight club’ in the basement?  
TG: its a very respectable fight club thank you very much  
TG: i get a good and proper whupping for the very nice price of free to regulars  
EB: regulars!! oh my god, dave.  
EB: it’s like the worst brothel in the universe.  
TG: i didnt know you were such a connoisseur of houses of prostitution john  
EB: shut up! you’re getting me off-topic here.  
TG: does karkles know about your proclivities  
EB: yes. yes he does. that is actually how i met him.  
TG: i am so asking him about this later  
EB: dave why did you go to the ~fight club~ when i thought we agreed you’d stay away?  
TG: oh my god lay off mombert  
EB: momb  
EB: that is so dumb.  
TG: its not like im in any danger i mean most of these so-called fighters are these middle aged dudes who have this delusion theyre some kind of movie badass thats gonna show their manliness in a poorly lit unfinished basement on staten island  
TG: it took ten rounds to take me down tonight thats how much these people suck  
EB: oh what, feel like a big man because you passed out?  
TG: ugh quit it john dont you take this bullshit moral high road with me  
TG: you mix quadrants with karkat i know you do it up blackrom style  
EB: not all blackrom is the same! karkat and i get rough sometimes and we take jabs at each other constantly but he doesn’t beat me unconscious. christ.  
TG: well i just learned way more than i needed to about that little prick thank you very much  
TG: anyway who fuckin asked you for your opinion on my preferences  
EB: i just worry about you, dave.  
EB: it’s not healthy, what you’re doing.  
TG: oh big doctor egbert thank you for your diagnosis whats your prescription  
TG: is it listening to more of your nagging and whiny assumptions  
EB: look i’m sorry! i’m just being honest!  
EB: i think you’re better off without him, is all i’m saying.  
TG: what  
EB: um, i always thought it was unhealthy? sorry dude.  
EB: tavros is really nice though!  
TG: fuck you john  
TG: just fuck you  
EB: wait

 

You’re so fucking mad you don’t just close Pesterchum, you turn your phone off completely. You clap the Icy-Hot to your side harder than is necessary, which makes you wince. Fuck John and his narrow fucking view of what kismesissitude is. You were goddamn _happy_ with that stupid bratty-ass troll, John’s got no right to be mouthing off if a dude likes to get off to a little bloodletting. Grabbing your phone again you turn it on, sign back into Pesterchum mobile, and ignore John as you open a new tab. 

 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering adiosToreador [AT] -- 

TG: yo honey bunches of tav  
TG: can you meet me at my place in like two hours  
AT: wHAT,  
TG: quality time  
TG: think you can carve some out for me  
AT: i’M KIND OF BUSY, hERE,  
TG: doing what  
TG: i didnt know there was a way to be too busy for a booty call  
AT: oH,,,  
AT: iS THAT, wOW, wHAT THIS IS ABOUT,,  
TG: dude how long have we been seeing each other come on now  
AT: a FEW MONTHS,  
TG: rhetorical holy shit  
TG: get your ass ready for the sweetest most tenderest of lovings at the mcstrider mcmansion stat  
AT: yOU’RE WEIRD, bUT FINE, sEE YOU SOON,  
TG: thats the fuckin spirit

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering adiosToreador [AT] -- 

 

You need to get out of your head. Tavros is the perfect antidote right now to John’s judgmental bullshit. Really, and he fucking _wonders_ why you have more troll friends than human. You head outside to wait for the bus, briefly distracting yourself by thinking about how much Staten Island sucks, how much it doesn’t really deserve to be called part of the boroughs. Of course, maybe you’re just bitter for having to wait for a legitimately scheduled bus to take you to the ferry to take you to Manhattan to go all the way around back to Brooklyn. If you knew anybody with a car this trip would probably take like half an hour. Ugh. 

Once you get home you leave the door unlocked, expecting Mr. Punctuality Nitram to get here pretty soon, and you flop into bed, groaning. You ache all over; maybe a booty call with your “flush crush”, as everybody under the fucking sun except you keeps calling it, wasn’t the best idea. But as soon as the thought crosses your mind, you hear the doorbell ringing (only one polite short burst, definitely Tavros), and you call out, “Door’s open!” 

A few seconds later the hinges groan and you can hear Tavros shuffling in sideways as always. Poor giant-horned dude. He edges into your bedroom, but as soon as he gets a good look at you his smile fades. “Jesus, Dave, what happened to _you?_ ” 

“I was so bored I went to play in traffic,” you deadpan, patting the empty side of the bed in what you hope is an inviting manner. “By the time I realized I’d rather make slow gentle love to my favorite bull-horned troll in the multiverse it was too late.” You throw an arm over your forehead melodramatically as Tavros carefully sits down next to your supine form. “I’ll never be pretty again!” 

“You got uh, a purdy mouth,” Tavros says as he lays himself down. “And a purdy, everything else?” 

“You ruined it,” you sigh, although when you look over at him you’re grinning. “So are we making this booty call happen or what?” 

“I’m worried, about you,” Tavros says instead, frowning a bit at the bruises he finds under your collar when he tugs it down. “What you’re doing isn’t kismesissitude, it’s masochism.” 

“Oh, fuck, not you too,” you groan, turning away from Tav which just makes the aches flare up anew. “Can’t a guy just enjoy putting up his dukes for a few hours without it being a cry for help? Or therapy?” 

“What if we just, uh, hang out for a bit? Watch a movie?” he suggests, biting his lip as he arches his brows in apprehension. 

“Oh, I see how it is. A dude can’t be a basement warrior and a sex symbol at the same time.” 

“No, I mean, it’s not that,” Tavros fumbles. “I mean, you’re, haha, you’re always hot, don’t get me wrong! Um. Just... You look like you could use a break? From physical activity?” He offers you a nervous smile. 

“Ugh, fine. Pick something. I’ll meet you in the living room when I remember how to walk again.” You’re not sure when that’s going to be, but you yelp when Tavros throws you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, edges through the door again, and tosses you on your couch. 

“What’s ‘Cool Runnings’?” he asks, leafing through your collection of burned DVDs. 

“One of the best and most ridiculous movies ever made by human hands,” you reply, shifting on the couch until you’re a little more comfortable. “Pop that shit in.” When Tavros doesn’t seem to be moving to do so, you glance at his back. “What?” 

“Dave, how come you have a DVD for District 9 in here?” Tavros sounds troubled, a little sad. You frown; you know why it’s there, but another good 30 seconds pass in silence. “Dave?” 

“Gamzee wanted to see what the fuss was about,” you mutter, staring at your feet. “So I made a copy for us to watch.” 

“And, uh, what’d he think of it?” Tavros turns a little to look at you. 

“I dunno, he got all muttery and shit. Just put on Cool Runnings, how about that?” 

“Okay, but first, uh, you already watched this and Gamzee’s not here anymore to want to watch it again for any reason, so, let’s get rid of it!” he says, and he pulls the DVD out of its sleeve to hold it in both hands. You reach out, say _Wait wait wait—_ but too late, Tavros snaps it in half like it’s a potato chip. 

You don’t even care about the DVD. Maybe in another universe where trolls had never landed on Earth, it might have just been a decent and interesting movie with racist undertones, but in this reality you inhabit it offends most of the trolls you know on a deep level. It’s not about the DVD. 

“You don’t have to say it like that! Fuck!” you yell, sitting up and wincing. “The fuck’s your problem, Tav?” 

“It’s a really offen—”

“Gamzee _is_ coming back! If I have to fucking bust him out of that fucking Troll Skid Row myself!” You can at least congratulate yourself on not crying, but you’re still embarrassed for being so fucking emotional. 

“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry Dave,” Tav says, sighing as he knee-walks across the floor to your end of the coffee table. “I, uh, didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, which is mean; you know Tavros wouldn’t try to hurt anybody on purpose. For such a big guy, he’s pretty sensitive and meek. 

“Want me to put on the movie?” he asks, and you’ll be fucked if you can resist those big brown eyes at all. 

“Yeah,” you say quietly, arms crossing, and he gives you a patronizing ruffle of the hair before crawling away to go do just that. Once it’s in he moves you out of the way so you can sit between his legs, back braced against his strong chest and soft belly. You try not to feel too bitter, try to enjoy the movie and moreover Tavros’s warm presence; you wouldn’t fuck Tavros so often if you didn’t really, _really_ like him. That’s definitely why he’s playing with the button of your fly right now, and why you’re arching up ever so subtly to let him know he might wanna try playing with something a little further south. 

It’s not that you don’t appreciate Tavros for exactly who he is. Hell, you don’t even want to replace him with Gamzee, definitely not when you pause the movie and pull him to the bedroom after all. You just think that maybe, as Tavros’s fucking magical self-lubricating Bad Dragon tentacle genitalia teases at your asshole, that having Gamzee around would really make everything just that much better. 

In the afterglow, you convince Tavros to just stay the night, keep your sore ass (both literally and figuratively) company. You don’t mention at first that he has the most huggable, squeezable body of anyone you know, and then you do which makes him blush and get up to go take his government-approved sleep aid and whatever other poison he’s supposed to swallow, not to mention clean up. You realize you should probably join him. 

He falls asleep first, and that’s when you decide to call Kanaya in the morning. Time to stop whining about getting Gamzee out and actually do something about it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feferi bratxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that was a hell of a delay. i wasn't feeling so hot physically or creatively these past few days, but i pushed through it and wow! a 3k word chapter! that i hope makes up for all the manpain! 
> 
> also narco hit me with [adorable fanart out of left field](http://fatfeferi.tumblr.com/post/29156702083/narcoleptic95-replied-to-your-photo-soporhugs), and today i drew [nukestuck gamdave porn](http://soporhugs.tumblr.com/post/29171040348/ugh-i-cant-make-anything-im-supposed-to-be), so hopefully that also helps.

“Okay, so just... Look. All you need to do is be her friend, ask her how she’s doing, keep it low key. Don’t get all philosophical on her unless it’s something that has nothing to do with her. Most of all—”

“Keep her in the dark,” you finish for Alma with a nod. 

“I was going to say ‘Don’t blow our cover story’, but that works too. I guess.” Alma pulls the briefest of faces and then smiles, clapping you on the shoulder. “I like you, Rose. Don’t let us down.” She waves you into the room, and then the door slams shut behind you, locking you into a chilly room with a bloodthirsty troll with an incorrect knowledge of reality. 

You press the netbook to your chest as you head toward the table to wait. The chains you saw before are gone; Alma said they would be for the sake of Feferi trusting you. That doesn’t make you feel any better. 

Feferi’s aquarium stretches out beyond the confines of this room to give her space to swim without getting too bored. This also means that you have to wait for her to get here. She knows the schedule, but from what you’ve seen, well, she’s also a little shit. 

“Boo!” Feferi shouts as she slams up against the glass with all four limbs, a rather maniacal look on her face. A black racerback maillot is the only thing keeping it from being obscene. When you don’t react, she scowls and climbs out of the tank. “Wow, Alma at least smiled. Who’re you again?” 

“Rose,” you offer, keeping your seat as you open the netbook on the table. “Rose Lalonde.” 

“I don’t really care,” Feferi snaps as she proceeds to the chair without drying off. You shield the netbook with an unimpressed face as she flicks her drenched hair over her shoulder; there’s already a sizable puddle under her chair. “Okay, so ask me the questions.” 

You sigh, and begin. “How,” you begin, trying not to sound too scripted, “are you doing this week?” 

“I’m going to punch a hole through your face and then they’ll have to give me back Alma,” she replies, leaning back ever so casually. 

“Are your caretake—”

“Ugh, what do you _think_ the answer is?” Feferi interrupts, kicking at the underside of the table. 

“You want to know what I think?” you ask, your light tone not quite matching how much you want to slap her. 

“So stupid.” 

“I think you’re spoiled,” you inform her, closing the netbook. You don’t have to take notes on this part. “I think they let you run rampant. And I think your caretakers deserve better.” 

“Oh, look who’s new to the compound,” Feferi sneers, crossing her arms. “Moldbloods are a naturally lower species than a seadwelling troll like me! I’m nice enough to let most of them live.” 

“Naturally lower?” you ask, and you can’t contain your chortle. “What’s that based on?” 

“Based—?”

“Let me put it this way,” you say, pushing the netbook aside so you can prop your elbows on the table and lean your chin into your palms. “Who told you greenbloods are ‘lower’, hm?” 

“Dualscar,” she sniffs, like that should be enough for you. 

“Oh, yes, very reasonable,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “It’s not like he grew up in a society where he benefited from that kind of junk science and social imbalance, right?” 

“I don’t like you,” Feferi whines, glaring as she tugs at her hair. 

“Oh no?” You give her a little smile, eyes hooded. 

“You’re mean! Alma’s never like this.” She seems to be hunching over a little as she looks at you. 

“Like what? Honest?” you snort. “Feferi, you may not understand this right now, but I want to be your friend.” 

“If you wanted to be my friend you would be _nice_ to me.” She scowls deeply. “Instead all you’re doing is making fun of me!” 

You reach out and take one large webbed hand in your own. At first she snatches it away, hissing, and you curse yourself for being so stupid, bracing yourself to get clawed open. After a few seconds, though, she replaces her hand, although the wary look on her face doesn’t go away. You put your other hand over it, your hands a clamshell around hers. The skin is icy, like she’s dead, and you suppress a shudder. 

“I’m here,” you say, trying not to let your voice shake, “to tell you the truth.” 

Of course, that’s not what the Bureau is paying you to do. They’re paying you to keep the wool over the princess’s eyes and oh, Alma won’t like you much at the end of all this, which makes you a little sad. In any other line of work, Alma would be a woman you could really respect. But a professional relationship with one person isn’t worth injustice. 

Feferi rips her hand out of your grip, snarling. “Oh, shut up! What truth, that there’s a world of trolls out there that I haven’t met? That I should be nicer to my caretakers because they’re trolls too? I’ve heard that crap before.” 

“From whom?” you ask, brows furrowing as you rub your damp palms together. 

“Alma, obviously.” 

“What else did she tell you?” 

Instead of an answer all you get is sullen silence, Feferi crossing her legs as she grips the arms of the chair. You sigh, scratching at your hairline, and reopen the netbook to finish your scripted questions. Alma told you her sessions with Feferi were only ever 20 minutes long, but they’ve extended it to an hour to give you time to really bond with fishface here. Feferi is snotty about every answer, but there’s no smugness about it, and she gives you these looks like she’s just a hurt child. 

You go home. You make dinner with Kanaya. Kanaya sits on the floor between your knees as you polish her horns for her during a rerun of True Blood, and shouts “Fuck a Sookie!” with you when Sookie calls Tara a racist for not liking vampires. You laugh and kiss her between her horns. You go to bed and you ride her bulge like it’s the best thing on earth, because it is. You fall asleep looking at Kanaya and thinking that you’re going to have to restrain yourself from punching Feferi tomorrow if she says “moldblood” one more time. 

You wake up. You shower, get dressed, grab untoasted Pop Tarts for your commute before you kiss Kanaya goodbye. She still works in midtown, so she doesn’t have to leave as early as you do now. You eat your Pop Tarts on the ferry, brush crumbs off your lap when you arrive. You scan in. You put your purse in your locker and collect the netbook. 

And you sit down in the room again, Feferi already waiting for you. 

“See, I got here first today,” she says, smug as she flaps her hair at you like elephant ears, which you have to admit is bizarrely cute. “You’re late!” 

“Actually, I’m early,” you say with a smirk, and take your seat across from her. “Are you read—”

“Ugh, why would you be early if you didn’t have to be, though?” she interrupts, splaying her hands out on the table as she cracks her shoulders. 

“I used to work in midtown, for the Bureau, but I have a much longer commute now, so I had to kiss my _greenblood_ matesprit goodbye while she was still sleeping,” you say carefully. 

Feferi looks at you with new eyes. “Your _what?_ ” she asks, baring her teeth just enough to let you know what she thinks of your statement. 

“My greenblood matesprit,” you say, “or girlfriend, we like to use them interchangeably because we’re fun like that.” 

“You’re one of _those_ humans,” she says, eyes flicking from your right eye to your left and back again. 

“The Bureau is well aware of my romantic life,” you assure her, opening the netbook at last. “Kanaya is very dear to me.” 

“At least she has a prettier name than most moldb—”

“Greenbloods,” you correct her. 

“ _Mold_ bloods,” Feferi hisses. 

“Nope,” is all you say, dismissive and curt. Feferi screeches and tries to flip the bolted-down table. To her credit and your surprise, she actually succeeds, and it’s all you can do to snatch up the little laptop and skitter back, chair clattering to the floor. 

“I hate you!” Feferi shouts, and she picks up her chair to hurl it at your head. You duck. “You’re so mean to me!” 

“Why, because I don’t agree with everything you say?” you ask, taking a step forward. 

“You’re _mean!_ ” Feferi says again. Despite the noise it looks like nobody’s coming to help you, and you roll your eyes both at Feferi’s petulance and Security Guard Fred’s inability to not take a coffee break or something when you might actually appreciate his presence. 

“I’m myself,” you say, dragging your fallen chair over so you can right it and sit in it. “Calm down.” 

“I’m going to go swimming,” she says, sticking her long tongue out at you. “Screw you!” 

“I’m not the one who’s going to get in trouble if you do,” you say, resting your temple against your knuckles, elbow braced on the arm of the chair. 

“I don’t get in trouble,” she says, but that certainly gives her pause. 

“The rules have changed a little with me around,” you say, your smile serene and full of fang. “You wanna sit down again, Miss Fef?” 

“Fine,” she says, pulling one one of the spare chairs over with a rough yank. She pulls her claws through her hair, and you note her nervous tic on the netbook. “Ask your stupid questions.” 

“I could braid that for you tomorrow,” you tell her as you look at the netbook, and before she can answer you launch into your questions. 

You finish out the session. You go home. Kanaya’s late. You make dinner by yourself. You greet Kanaya when she gets home. She apologizes, you tell her you were just lonely. You sit between her knees and she trims your hair as you watch Merlin; she laughs when you mutter about Arthur’s manpain. She eats dinner while you read another godawful Mercedes Lackey book that you adore so much. You go to bed and dream that you’ve set the Governor’s Island compound ablaze. 

You wake up. You hit the alarm and manage to find the snooze button. You wake up. You hit the alarm. You wake up. You make Kanaya sniff you, as punishment for the crime of being able to sleep in without consequence. She tells you she doesn’t smell anything and turns over in bed. You put on deodorant anyway and get dressed. You eat a bowl of cereal with your eyes on the microwave clock. You nap on the ferry. You scan in. You trade your purse for your netbook. You take your seat in Feferi’s room, which looks like her little tantrum yesterday never happened at all. 

“You’re late,” she cackles as you slide into the chair, and you snort. 

“I’m actually perfectly on time, despite the universe’s best attempts to foil me,” you reply, which wipes the smirk off her fishface. 

“You said you would braid my hair yesterday,” Feferi says, and despite the imperiousness in her voice there’s an undercurrent of hopefulness, too, in the way she leans forward. “Skip the stupid questions. Do what you said you would.” 

“I don’t know, is it still a big tangled mess? I don’t have a comb or a brush,” you say, airy as you open your computer. 

“Here!” Her hands whip out from under the table and she thrusts them forward, a comb in one fist and a brush in the other. You stare at the items in mild shock; was she... Was she _hiding_ them until you might mention not having them? What would she have done if you hadn’t said anything? “Now you have no excuses. Do my hair.” 

“Well, I suppose you’re right,” you sigh. “Give me those, and sit on the floor between my knees.” 

“I’m not putting my head below yours!” She hands you the brush and comb anyway. 

“Fine then,” you say, not in the mood to deal with another one of her violent tantrums. “Pull over your chair and sit with your back to me.” That much she can at least comply with, albeit with a lot of grousing, and you’re glad her hair is wet as you start combing her ends out. 

“So what’ve you done today?” you ask as you work through some hefty knots. It’s kind of like the questions you’re meant to ask her anyway, but more sincere. 

“Swam, a lot,” she says with a bored sigh. “Oh, I got to watch a movie? It was about a bunch of boring humans with weird accents but I kind of liked it.” 

“Oh? What was it called?” 

“Ummm, The Secret of Roan Inish? I couldn’t understand them half the time but,” and it’s like you can _feel_ her grin, “I like the idea of water monsters that can sneak into a human family and kill everybody!” 

“I don’t think that’s how that movie goes,” you say, having some vague memory of seeing it at a friend’s house when you were young. 

“Yeah, well, it’s how it should have gone,” she sniffs. 

“You know,” you begin, trying not to hesitate, “I bet you would have fun if we could get you out of the compound sometime.” 

“Ohhh, no. No no no, I know what’s out there!” she says, and her definitive nod makes her hair almost slip from your fingers. “Alma told me that if all the trolls on the planet knew I was alive they would try to kill me because of my blood color.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” you tell her. “I can’t speak for the district trolls, but I know trolls in general mixed society—”

“What’s a district troll?” Feferi asks, interrupting as usual. 

“They’re the trolls who don’t want to live side by side with humans, which is their right,” you answer, which is mostly the truth. “So the government made some fenced-off areas just for them, but they’re not very nice areas.” 

“What do you mean?” She’s gone a little quieter, and she stills as she waits for your answer. 

“A lot of poverty,” you say, and you move a little further up her hair so you can comb out the last of it. “The government doesn’t cooperate well with whoever they appoint as district leaders, so the districts can get dirty, and sometimes trolls get sick from it.” You have never so grossly oversimplified the state of troll districts in your life, you don’t think. 

“Well that sounds crappy,” she says, terse in her tone but her shoulders belie how unsure she is. “But that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t kill me.” 

“And why would they kill you?” you ask, sweeping hair back from her temple to gather it into bunches for braiding. 

“Because of my blood color, like I said.” 

“But why?” 

Feferi goes silent. As you suspected, she doesn’t have a supplied answer—it looks like the Bureau just filled her with a lot of fear and let her fill in the blanks. She fails to respond at all, and you decide maybe that’s enough for today as you start to plait her long coarse hair. You ask her questions more like the ones you’re supposed to be asking her. 

The session ends. You go home. You fall asleep watching Interview With the Vampire which Kanaya loves and you find dreadfully boring. Nobody has the energy to cook dinner so you go out to the nearest Chinese take-out place a few blocks away to get moo goo gai pan before it closes. You go to bed and you finger-fuck her nook. It takes you an hour to fall asleep after she does. 

You wake up. You go to work without breakfast. You scan in. You sit with Feferi. She talks animatedly about her day. You go home. You read books in silence with Kanaya. You go to sleep. You wake up. You go to work. Feferi smiles for you. You go home, stay up late reading awful fanfiction of your only published book because it tickles you that it has a fandom at all. You wake up, go to work, Feferi asks to be told about Kanaya and you comply. You go home. You go to work. You go two weeks at this and every day it seems like Feferi is warming up to you more. 

“I know they’re hiding something from me,” she says to you on day eleven (weekends don’t count). “I don’t even know why they keep me alive.” And you actually hug her, arms encircling what they can of her icy corpse-like body. 

You wake up. You go to work. They don’t let you scan in. Something has happened. You demand to know what happened; Alma appears at the gate and pulls you through, berating the guards for not recognizing you. She won’t tell you what’s wrong, just yanks you along through the halls. Your heart is a lump in your throat. You pass Feferi’s door, but that doesn’t make you feel any better. You’re at the back of the facility now, by one of the many pumps in Feferi’s aquarium. 

The water level is even with the bottom of the enormous hole cracked in the glass, lapping at the edge; the only thing keeping the facility from being flooded are the many drains that dot the floors. Alma is saying something about guards knocked out, about identity fraud and the stupid brainless night shift, but you barely hear her. 

You need to find Feferi. Somehow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i hereby dedicate this chapter to narco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so so so sorry you guys for how long this took i've just had such writer's block and i keep feeling like i'm writing myself into a million corners but yeah almost 3k words for this chapter so i hope that helps

The papers clutched in your hands give you power here. You have to keep reminding yourself of that. And shifting your hands so you don’t get the manila folder they’re in too sweaty. 

“You’ll be fine,” Jade says, giving you a hearty slap on the back. She’s the only person you know with a car, and she was nice enough to cut your ride in half by driving you; it also made it easier for her to bring her laser rifle, which she’s got strapped to her back at the moment. “He’ll sign.” 

The guard at the gate is a really jovial blueblood who actually introduces himself as Nimius, tells you you two are the first humans he’s seen in years. You’re not sure how to take that. All he really does is glance over the papers you show him, shove some papers at you in return to fill out quickly and sign, and ask Jade for a license for her rifle, which she produces without a problem. He doesn’t seem to give a shit about your sword, probably because Jade was right and it looks like a dorky prop. This feels too easy. 

You never really _saw_ New Alternia 5 the last time you were here. Now that you can get a real eyeful it’s ugly, the pseudo-hivestems worn down without a sign of being repaired, the streets broken and full of unidentifiable detritus. The least you can say is that it’s not a total shantytown. There are a few early risers in the streets tonight, scraggly, sick-faced bluebloods who don’t look much like the beasts that kicked the shit out of you a few months ago. 

Nimius bids you good luck with kind of an oblivious smile and some basic directions to find Gamzee’s hive. Once you round the first corner, Jade shifts her rifle around and holds it at the ready. 

Gamzee’s place is a single hive, in somewhat better repair than the rest of the district; the window frames are rotting and there’s a cracked pane on one of them, but a lot of places you saw out on the fringe had holes in the walls for windows. This place has even got some kind of jury-rigged fire escape going on that maybe trolls think makes a great balcony. There’s a massive purple smiley face sprayed on the front wall with an o for a nose. You don’t know what to make of that. 

You bang on the tin door, which kind of smarts, but you get no answer. Jade offers to kick down the door, which you’re pretty sure anybody could do, but you wave off the offer. You’re not about to stand here all day, though, and you take a few steps back, hook your thumbs in your pockets and lean back to yell. 

“Yo! Yo Gamzee! Get your Sultan Kosen ass out here!” 

You hear scrabbling, you hear something breaking, and then the window by the fire escape shakes in its soggy frame before it gets shoved open as wide as it’ll go. “The fuck—Dave?”

And there he is. He’s wearing that stupid face paint that he’s always saved for the fight club, and his hair looks gross and matted, but right now if fucks were currency the amount you have to give would beggar the economy. 

“By any other name, you’re still my favorite piece of shit,” you call up, and Jade snickers from her position by the door where Gamzee can’t really see her without actively making an effort. 

“You ain’t supposed to be here,” Gamzee returns, half his lanky body practically hanging out the window now. He keeps shaking his head like he doesn’t think you’re real. 

You roll your eyes. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your nasty-ass hair, so that I may climb that busted-up stair,” you say, licking your teeth. “The fuck is wrong with you?” 

“You are a suicidal motherfucker, you know that?” he says. 

“Yeah,” is all you have to say as you jump up to grab ahold of the bottom rung of the fire escape and swing up. The metal is definitely rusted, which doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence. You’re no fucking parkour expert or anything, and it does take you some effort to get up to the top, where you’re sure it’s gonna fall out from under you any second, but you don’t give a shit. You made it. He’s right the fuck in front of you. 

You grab him by both horns and yank his face down, and you almost falter. You don’t know what being off the meds might have done to him, you don’t know what he might have been through in this dump, and maybe it’s been too long. But no. You kiss him like you’re gonna suck out his soul, like you’re gonna devour him inside out. For a few seconds it’s just you, and then his hands grab your face, his shark teeth piercing your lip. 

You break apart and Gamzee reaches out with long arms to pull you in through the window by the pits; you glance down at Jade, and she gives you an OK symbol with a grin. Everything’s a fucking adventure to her. 

“I ain’t your fuckin’ damsel in distress,” you growl when he drops you to your feet, baring your teeth when he tries to ignore your words and kiss you again. “You heard?” 

“I heard,” he chuckles. “You think whatever you wanna think. The fuck you here for, though?” 

“I’m here,” you say, tugging the manila envelope out of your hoodie where you were stashing it, “to rescue _you_.” 

He frowns at it, hands staying at his sides. “The fuck you mean, rescue? I ain’t need rescuin’.” 

You look around, snorting as you gesture at your surroundings. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Even Tav and Aradia’s shithole apartment beats this fucking slum.” 

“It’s where I belong,” he grumbles, walking away from you and your manila envelope. “I appreciate the motherfuckin’ visit but you better get your ass outta here. And li’l sis downstairs, I saw her, you take her too.” 

“No, what? Come on,” you plead, darting after him. “This shit’s legit! Straight from the Bureau, I got Kanaya to help me out. See,” you say, reaching out to pull on his arm, “if you sign—”

You don’t expect to be backhanded across the room, but when you land against the wall and slide down, you throw a little coughing fit and hold up the envelope in victory. “Don’t be like that, baby,” you say as you rise and dust yourself off; Gamzee turns and snarls at you. 

“I’m motherfuckin’ fine where I am, I don’t need your stupid-ass Bureau!” he shouts, overturning a shitty table as he advances on you. “Or you, either!” 

“—If you sign, you live with me for the sixty days you gotta be on meds, instead of this hellhole!” you manage to crow when he takes a breath. “Don’t you want that?” 

“Oh, what?” he asks as he hauls you up by the collar. “So I can be your motherfuckin’ pet troll? You gonna put a fuckin’ collar on me, Dave?” 

“Only if you ask,” you retort, and shake the envelope at him. “Don’t act like not even a little bit of you wants this, you ratty piece of shit.” 

This time he throws a chair at you. 

It breaks across your face, and you’re winded, lying on the floor with twitching fingers. Every time you set foot in this fucking concentration camp of a district you wind up hurting. You’re still trying to re-focus your eyes when you see long legs folding up next to you, Gamzee kneeling to pull your head onto his lap. “See,” he begins, brushing his thumb over the soft cushion of your hair, “I gotta be stayin’ here, Dave. Sure, it’s boring as fuck, I ain’t got nobody to fuckin’ talk to ‘cept these dumbass zealots who got a huge-ass boner for the mother planet and nothin’ else.” You both snort-laugh. “But I got terms and conditions to be abidin’ by, you feel me? I already done signed a contract for your life, you pasty little fuck, and I’m thinkin’ that’s one agreement I ain’t willin’ to break.” 

“Oh my god, you’re starting to talk like them,” you groan. “I only left you here for like, a few months, chucklefuck.” 

“A brother gets used to it,” he says with a shrug, grinning. “If that shit pisses you off, all the motherfuckin’ better.” 

“And don’t call me pasty,” you add, giving him what you can only term a gentle punch to the jaw. 

“Anything to keep you hatin’ my ass,” he says, turning his head back from the fake whiplash to look down at you. “I ain’t want you to forget about me.” 

“Stop being so fucking melodramatic. Just sign the Bureau papers I brought and we can annoy the shit out of each other all day for two whole months.” You hold up the wrinkled envelope in your fist, glaring at him. 

“The Grand Highblood—” he starts. 

“Who cares about the Grand Highfuck?” you want to know. “I’ve got a fucking sword—”

“—He ain’t just gonna let me go like that—”

“—And Jade is downstairs with a fucking laser rifle that she upgraded herself to have way more kick than those Bureau-issued pieces of shit.” 

You stare at each other for a moment. “Well fucking fine, then,” he concedes with a shrug. “If you’re fucking willing to get killed for this bullshit, why the fuck not? Gimme those shits.” 

He tries to help you sit up and you slap him before propping yourself up against the wall. You pass him the manila envelope, and then because you fucking saw this coming when he casts around fruitlessly for a writing implement, you fish a pen out of your hoodie pocket and pass him that, too. It looks like a crayon in his giant hand. 

“You’re gonna have to wear an ankle bracelet,” you blurt out as he leafs through the pages. He’s not even fucking reading them, he’s just looking for where to sign. He’s breaking your goddamn heart. “The first 30 days you’re not allowed outside my apartment, and the second 30 days I have to be your escort if you wanna go anywhere outside.” You’re not even sure he’s listening as he scribbles his ham-fisted signature on the first document. “And then, uh, business as usual, and we can even, I don’t fuckin’ know, get your old place back or find you a new one—”

“Will you shut the fuck up already?” he says as he signs the second of two documents. “There, look, see? You all up and bought me, motherfucker.” 

“I am gonna laugh my ass off if you keep talking like that, I’ll tell you that much,” you say as you pull the papers away to stuff them back in the envelope. “Let’s get you the fuck out of here before the Grand Highfuck gets wind of—” 

And Jade’s laser rifle goes off. That doesn’t mean a damn thing that’s good. 

“You might wanna get down here, guys!” she shouts from below. “So we can go? Maybe? Nowish?” 

The manila envelope gets zipped into your hoodie, and you take a second to jibe Gamzee for having a ladder through a hole in the floor instead of real stairs before you climb down and tear outside. The purplebloods are out in force, looking like a pack of wild dogs more than anything, although they’re backing off around the scorch mark on the ground. There’s no sign of the Grand Highblood, at least. 

“He ain’t up and got no permission to be makin’ an exit,” one of them says, and you can’t even tell which. “Motherfucker’s gotta keep his ass in a single place, and that’s in his hive.” 

“Nah, see, we got papers that say otherwise,” you inform them, although like fuck are you gonna endanger those documents by showing them. “He’s _my_ damsel today, so he’s comin’ with me. Us.” You jab a thumb in Jade’s direction, and she hefts the laser rifle at them, which makes them skitter enough that you grin. 

“That plan was all sorts of mighty motherfuckin' abysmal what when you pulled that shit previously,” the purpleblood closest to you says, showing you a big pointy smile. 

“Yeah, but last time y’all jumped me from behind and then your Grand Highfuck dislocated my arm,” you say, drawing your sword, “and this time I’m fuckin’ armed.” 

“I ain’t got no fears of your little metal toothpick, soft little motherfucker, and ain’t nobody else do either.” The subjugglator—you’re pretty sure that’s what they call themselves, actually—gestures to the rest of the group. “You ain’t leavin’ with Gamzee.” 

“Come on, Dave,” Jade says from behind you. “Let’s just go, they’re not gonna do anything but stand around.” 

“Nah, but you right,” you agree. “Let’s go.” Gamzee is weirdly silent for the whole thing and you just put your hand at the small of his back, turning to leave. (You keep your sword out.) You make it five paces and then Jade erupts into action, firing her rifle a few inches to the right of your ear. You whip around and there’s a subjugglator with blown-out pupils on the ground, or most of one, anyway; their arm is a few feet away, the dark purple flesh mostly cauterized from the laser fire. 

Jade raises a fist as she resets the rifle. “It didn’t work out for Dave last time because he didn’t have _me_ around, motherfuckers!” she spits, and then she _literally_ spits. “Come at us again and I’ll blow a hole through every last one of you fuckfaces!” 

“That thing takes like fifteen minutes to recharge,” one of the trolls sneers, taking a step forward—and then a step back when Jade raises her rifle again, a very distinct whine letting them all know it’s ready to fire again. 

“I’m a technological genius!” she cackles. “I’ve upgraded this thing to within an inch of its life. Do you really wanna test your theory?”

The purplebloods disperse pretty sullenly, one of them helping up the now one-armed troll on the ground. They leave the arm, though. 

“Well, that was easy,” Jade says as you make your way back to the gate. Nimius the security guard just gives you a big sunny smile, tells Gamzee he hopes he’ll come visit after the 60 days are up. The most that can be said for Gamzee’s features in response is “tightened.” 

The car is a bigger conundrum that apparently Jade hadn’t considered, and you end up stuffing a taciturn, grumpy Gamzee into the backseat where he sort of lounges with his horns hanging out the window, the rifle nestled carefully on the floor with the safety on. You’re pretty sure he’s going to have a crick in his neck when you get him home. He doesn’t talk the whole drive, and Jade keeps hissing at you to stop drumming out your anxiety on every surface in reach. 

Jade double-parks in front of your building and you wait for Gamzee to extricate himself from the car. He rolls his neck, says, “Mother of _fuck_ is my neck all kinds of fucked up. If you ain’t owe me a motherfuckin’ massage then the goddamn sky is green.” That sounds more like him, and you finally grin before booting him in the ass toward the building. 

“Hey, so Jade...” you begin, rolling your wrist at her. She puts a hand up, shakes her head, and just squeezes your shoulder. 

“Don’t even worry about it. I’ve been wanting to test this one out! I’d feel bad about using it on living subjects, but hey! Self defense is self defense. I had fun, okay?” She pats you on the same shoulder. “Go deal with your kismesprit, or whatever he is.” Jade gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek, and then hops back into her car. 

In the elevator you expect him to stay the same weird quiet troll he was in the car, but instead he pins you against the wall, growls that he didn’t fucking miss you at all, and kisses you until he opens up the cut in your lip again (and until you’re half-hard, if you’re going to be honest). When the elevator doors open, there’s a very frazzled-looking old lady staring at you, but she keeps glancing down the hall, as if whatever’s there is way outdoing the show you just put on for her. 

Of course, when you step out into the hall and she hurries into the elevator behind you, you think you have to agree with that assessment, considering there’s a pair of fish trolls standing outside your apartment door.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> troll cops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok wow longest chapter of them all at 3600+ words, i hope this excites more than it disappoints! last chapter here we go

“No. You get the fuck out of my bathroom, you’re not fooling me with that seadweller shit. Gamzee’s told me about you.” You shoo the first fish troll out of your bathroom, the one with reasonable horns. He looks like a scowly little hipster and the only reason you let him in was because Gamzee very grudgingly vouched for him; you’re pretty sure you hate him, platonically. He’s got some nasty cuts on his hands, and even a scratch on his face, which would explain why he seems more interested in the mirror than paying attention to his little friend in the tub. 

The other fish troll has the stupidest fucking horns you’ve ever seen, long orange curves more than half her height in length, and she’s miserable in her inability to stand up straight in your apartment. She gets to stay in your tub, and she looks at you anxiously as you pull your phone out of your pocket. 

She says her name is Feferi, and that she’s afraid to die. She also told you that Rose has told her about you, and that she recognized you by the “weird banana color” of your hair, and by looking like a pink version of your sister. (You’re going to hit Rose later, you swear.) 

“Are you calling Rose?” she wants to know, and another thing you’ve learned about Miss Thing here is that she’s the most demanding troll you’ve ever met. She might be the most demanding person, period. Even when she looks scared and sad everything that comes out of her mouth sounds haughty and makes you want to kick her to the curb. Except she says she knows Rose personally, so really you’d better not. 

“Jesus, yes, calm your fish tits,” you grumble, speed-dialing your twin. “If you even...” You glance at her chest and shake your head, looking away. To be honest you’ve never been with a lady troll, and you’ve never seen fit to ask your sister what the fuck she does with her troll girlfriends or what they’re packing, because that’s far from something you want to be picturing. Even if Aradia’s got it going on, if you’re honest. 

“You don’t usually call, Dave,” she answers, which is about as polite as you’re probably going to get from her if this is how she’s opening tonight. “I’m kind of busy. What do you want?” 

“I got kind of a crisis,” you say, looking at Feferi again. You want to slap her hands away from investigating your various products around the rim of the tub, but she seems like kind of a brat and you don’t especially feel like putting up with the fallout. “And I need you for it.” 

“Already kind of in the middle of a crisis,” she huffs on the other end. “Can this wait? My problem is work-related.” 

“No, not really, I want my tub back eventually and this fishy princess can’t even stand to her full height in my apartment. Also, it’s crowded enough with Gamz—”

“Did you say _fishy princess?_ ” Rose interrupts, and you can just _see_ her face in your mind’s eye as it goes from bored and irritated to wide-eyed and hooked. 

“Yeah, she says she knows you, and she wants to talk to you. Rose, she won’t stop touching my shit—”

“Put her on the phone,” she commands, interrupting you again, and with a long sigh you do as she says, hoping Feferi knows how to deal with a phone. Thankfully she presses it to her face, against wherever her ear must be, with both hands. 

“Hello? Hello?” Feferi says into the phone with a certain impatience combined with desperation. “Rose, I’m scared—no.” She goes quiet for a while, and then, “Eridan.” 

There’s another pause, and you feel like you shouldn’t be in the room when Feferi whispers, “I don’t want to die.” You’re not exactly comfortable with leaving your phone in her care but you’ve got better shit to do than babysit her anyway, so you get up and head out into the rest of your apartment. 

“It’s not really any of your business,” the other fish troll is snapping at Gamzee in your living room. “I needed a safe house for her, and this will suffice for now.” 

“You used my name, motherfucker, that don’t warrant your business being your own. _Eridan,_ ” Gamzee says, lip twitching above his (impressive) canines. “You infringin’ on my motherfuckin’ _alone time,_ you dig?”

The fish troll, whom you’ve gathered is called Eridan, snorts and doesn’t even acknowledge you when you enter the room. “I don’t really care about your freaky little interspecies fake-kismesissitude,” he scoffs. “I’ve found myself a _real_ kismesis.” There’s a weird nasal sound to the way he says _real_ and you realize he’s making a fucking fishing pun. Insufferable. 

“So real you bestowed some kindness on her salty ass and up and saved her from captivity, brother? Doesn’t sound much hateful to me.” What’s funny is that from what you understand, Eridan is supposed to be the next hemocaste up from Gamzee, and these motherfuckers tend to get bigger the higher up they get, but Eridan doesn’t really compare to Gamzee’s eight-foot frame (plus horns). Honestly, he’s barely taller than you, and you’re six-one. You’re standing next to him and he’s still ignoring you. 

“From what I understand,” Eridan says, finally sparing you a glance, “ _your_ so-called kismesis did the same for you. Doesn’t sound _very_ hateful to me.” He’s correcting Gamzee’s grammar, the prick. 

“It ain’t the same,” Gamzee says, shifting his position lounging on the couch. “I ain’t expect you to understand, though, I mean, I got you. You ain’t never fillin’ quadrants long, ain’t give a motherfucker a whole lotta experience goin’ on.” It’s almost kind, the way he’s taking Eridan down like that. 

“You’ve only been in, what, two kismesissitudes? I don’t have to take this from you!” Eridan huffs as he crosses his arms. 

“You probably right about that,” Gamzee replies, and before anybody can really react to it he’s whipped the DVD remote off the coffee table and at Eridan’s head. It bounces off his forehead and while he whines and curses Gamzee out, Gamzee throws his head back and laughs. 

“You piece of shit, you’re the worst clutchmate ever!” Eridan wails, and Gamzee just laughs some more and agrees with him. It’s fucking good to see him acting like himself. 

“David!” you hear a warbly voice calling you, and Gamzee snickers as you run to see what Feferi wants before she can call you that name again. 

“Davi—” You burst into the bathroom, and Feferi scowls. 

“What?” you snap. 

“I had to call you almost two whole times,” she says, and holds out your phone. “Talk to Rose.” 

“Two whole times, talk to Rose, mneh mneh mneh,” you mutter, snatching the phone from her weird webbed hands. “Bossy little... Ugh, hi Rose.” 

She tells you she’s coming over right away, and that’s really all you need to know. She’s got a ways to come from Manhattan, so you take a moment to introduce Feferi to bath bubbles, as well as dumping (with a long-suffering sigh) your collection of novelty rubber duckies into the water with her. The bath bubbles delight her, and you feel the exact opposite as she sinks her claws into your Jesus duck. You had really prized that one, so of course the universe would direct her to destroy it first. 

You leave her to her devices and play gracious host just a moment longer to provide Eridan with a bag of ice for his forehead, mostly so he’ll stop moaning about it. When you turn on the TV there’s a news story on about some politician’s scandal getting caught with a black-market warmblood troll “pet”. Eridan chuckles under his breath about “lowbloods” and you’re already changing the channel. You’re not in the mood for the bile you feel in the back of your throat. 

Rose arrives and you escort her to the fish princess’s lair in your bathroom. As expected she’s destroyed most of your rubber ducky collection, although you manage to snatch the Mr. T duck out of the water and set him on the sink. You’ll always protect Mr. T. 

“Rose,” Feferi breathes; her attitude melts away, and she holds up her sudsy arms like a toddler. Rose sinks to her knees by the tub and doesn’t even seem to give a shit that her dress gets all wet when she embraces the fish troll like a lost relative. You’re baffled. 

It looks like they didn’t actually talk much on the phone, because the first thing Rose has to say to Feferi is, “You ran a _way_ , Feferi? Why would you _do_ this?” She holds her by the grey shoulders and gives them a shake in emphasis. “And who the hell is Eridan?” 

“I didn’t run away!” Feferi shouts, water splashing in her agitation. “Eridan lied and said he was taking me to Dualscar. He said we were like clutchmates.” Her voice peters out into a sad little mumble, and she frowns into her knees when she pulls them up to her chest. “He lied.” 

“So how did you end up here?” You’ve never seen your sister so maternal, fingers carding through the ends of Feferi’s hair. 

“He said he could take me somewhere safe,” Feferi says, and holy shit she’s leaning into Rose, isn’t she? “That’s the only reason I didn’t kill him.” That explains the cuts and scratches; he must have talked fast to avoid much worse. “I didn’t want to go back but I didn’t... I didn’t want to be out here. Outside of the compound.” 

She glances at you, and you can tell she doesn’t entirely want you here, but Rose’s presence is the palliative to that distrust. “I hate it out here. It’s disgusting. We swam for a long time, and I had to hold my head above the water because it was so...” Feferi bares her teeth. “Poisonous.” No wonder Eridan kind of smells like the Gowanus if you get too close, and no wonder Feferi took up residence in your tub. 

“The first place we went to was empty. I told him if he didn’t get it right I would pull his head off,” she says with a little snicker. “I gave him a little scratch for a warning and he got upset.” Rose snickers too, which is a little unnerving but not really uncharacteristic, if you’re honest. “Then we had to walk around for ages in this neighborhood because he didn’t know which building your stupid brother lived in, it was so stupid! He didn’t even get the neighborhood right at first.” Now it’s your turn to snicker, at the thought of all the gentrifying yuppies running home at the sight of giant fish trolls roaming the streets in broad daylight. 

“So wait,” Rose says, frowning. “You were seen?” 

“Um, yes? I said we were walking around for ages, but obviously you weren’t listening,” Feferi replies, rolling her eyes. “So anyway he finally figured it out and—”

“Did you see anyone on their phone, maybe?” Rose asks, and Feferi slides down in the tub to snort angry bubbles into the water at being interrupted. Of course, the water still has bubble bath formula in it and she sits up to spit it out, even madder. 

“No? Why would I pay attention to that? I don’t care about stupid random humans, I was trying to find your brother’s place!” 

“Because, Feferi!” Rose slaps her hand to her forehead. “There’s an APB out for you Bureau-wide! Now the whole Bureau knows you exist and if someone working for the Bureau saw you...!” 

“An AP-what?” Feferi just looks annoyed now. 

“Yeah, no, I’m not surprised, that dickhole out in my living room looks and acts incompetent as shit,” you comment, and they both look up at you like they forgot you were there. “So am I looking at cops busting into my place? ‘Cause I ain’t about that life.” 

“Worse than cops, actually,” Rose sighs as she shifts to sit on the corner of the tub. Feferi arranges herself with arms crossed over the lip of the tub next to Rose. “The Bureau Police.” 

“Oh good, the troll cops,” you snort. “I should get Jade back in here with her laser rifle.” Rose gives you a look, and you huff something about how you were just kidding. 

“I’m gonna call around and see if I can stop that from happening, hopefully,” she says, pulling out her phone. “Go do something else, Dave.” 

You leave your twin with the fishy princess, and check on the trolls in the living room again. Eridan is asleep in the armchair; it looks like Gamzee bullied him into putting a towel or three down before taking a seat. You’re gonna have to thank him for that later. As it is, Gamzee is curled up in the corner of the couch, looking a lot more chill than he has all day, and watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Or Aqua Something You Know Whatever, which is apparently what they’re calling it now. It looks like even after months of being away Gamzee remembers where you keep your paraphernalia, and you sigh as you go to put the shit away. You’d been wondering why you smelled weed. You’d join him if you didn’t expect the troll cops to break down your door any fucking second, and even though they’re not the NYPD you don’t doubt they’d pass your black ass along happily. (Well, pasty black ass, but you’re not gonna call it that in your own head.) 

“Hey, motherfucker,” he says with a wide, sleepy grin as you arrange yourself next to and around him on the couch. “You know they ain’t let me have no bud in the district?” He pats your hair clumsily. 

“I’m fucking shocked,” you deadpan, and pull his long-ass arm around your shoulders like he’s a puppet. He doesn’t give a shit. 

“You cut your fuckin’ hair,” Gamzee says, running his thumbs over the front of your flat-top. “The fuck for?” 

“I’m gonna cut _your_ hair, you walking disaster area,” you reply, neatly dodging the question. “Don’t district trolls know a goddamn thing about hygiene? You’re fucking disgusting.” 

“I know you be likin’ me like that, though,” Gamzee chuckles, and he leans down to rub his greasy hair against your face, which makes you yelp and shove his head back so hard it bounces against the wall. Eridan snorts in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake up. 

“I’m gonna fucking dunk your face in the tub when the fish bitch gets out of it, and I’m gonna hold you down until you stop moving so I can wash your carcass in peace,” you grumble. Gamzee just pulls you close so you’re sitting between his legs, back braced against his chicken chest. He nibbles on your ear, gently at first, and then he bites through the cartilage completely with his canines. “Fuck!” 

“You put a purple stud in that shit, is what you do now,” he cackles, despite you elbowing him. “If you gonna fuckin’ own me, I got rights to do the same.” 

“Fair,” you sigh. “Yo, Gamz.” 

“What.” He’s putting his face in your hair like he knows annoys the fuck out of you. 

“Troll cops are probably coming tonight.” 

“What, for my ass?” 

“Nah, for the fishy princess.” You glance at the TV; Metalocalypse is on now. “I’ma put you in the bedroom, though.” 

“Don’t be tellin’ me it’s that you wanna get your fuck on while everybody’s crowdin’ up the place,” he says, smirking into the top of your head. You can already feel his hands starting to wander. 

“Did I say all of that?” you say, pushing his hands down to the sides of your hips. “Nah, I mean, just so they don’t go asking for your fuckin’ papers or anything.” 

“But you got papers for me. I’m your good li’l pet troll, motherfucker,” he coos mockingly. “Ain’t no worry.” 

“I wasn’t exactly supposed to take you with me,” you confess. “Nimius the security guard over there didn’t exactly read the fine print, or he woulda made you stay in the district while the papers got processed.” 

“Oh.” There’s a moment of silence before Gamzee huffs a whole lot of air over your head. “Well, whatever. I don’t give a fuck, so long as the shit goes through.” He chuckles. “Means you were all bluffing at all my brothers and sisters in the district, though, you little fuckin’ liar.” 

“Yeah, you caught me. I just couldn’t stand to be away from your ugly hatchet-faced ass any longer than I had to be,” you say, twining your fingers with his against your hip. “Should probably call Tav tomorrow and let him know you’re alive. Oh, and Karfuck, too. I bet he misses you for whatever reason.” 

“Yeah,” is all Gamzee can say, and he squeezes your hand until it’s sore. It makes you glad. 

Despite what you said before, and meaning to go check with Rose about her sleeping arrangements, you both fall asleep like that. Gamzee feels warmer than you remember, and when he’s really content like this, especially when he’s stoned, he does this weird clicky purring thing that puts you right the fuck to sleep when you’re pressed against him. 

The loud bang of your front door being kicked open is what wakes you up, reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. Eridan almost falls out of the armchair, eyes wide with panic. And you can feel Gamzee growling behind you, sober and ill-rested. 

The Bureau Police look like the NYPD’s Hercules squad times ten. Each is armed with a laser rifle that looks like junk next to Jade’s, but still dangerous enough. Your door is dented to fuck and the lock is broken. They swarm into the living room and everywhere else like fucking ants, and one of them stumps his way up to you. 

“Are you the resident of this apartment?” he asks. 

“Where’s your warrant?” you ask in return, chin up in defiance. 

“This is the Bureau Police, not the NYPD, son.” 

“Rose!” you shout, ignoring the cop and his laser rifle. “I thought you called ahead!” 

“I _did!_ ” she shouts back, and she shoves her way through the cops like they’re cows. A lot of them yell about it, try to hold her back, and would you look at that, she’s got a badge too that she flashes in their faces. They shut up and leave her alone, even clearing a path for her. 

“Who’s your superior?” she asks them, standing between you and the troll cops as she holds up her badge high. “Who was so monumentally stupid as to send out a herd of you to this location without checking with _my_ superiors first?” 

The one that questioned you walks up to Rose and they have a quiet little conversation that flies over your pretty little head. The gist of it is that someone’s getting fired, for one, and for two, Feferi gets to go home with Rose until the Bureau’s higher-ups can come to a more definite decision regarding her fate. Either way, you get your apartment back. 

“Is someone gonna fix my fucking lock?” you ask, loud enough that Rose turns around and glares at you. “What? It’s a legitimate concern, I lock my door for a fuckin’ reason. And these dumbasses broke it.” 

She rolls her eyes. “And get my brother reimbursed for the door.” She knows you’d rather hire a locksmith of your choice than trust whatever yahoo the Bureau sends out. 

You get your apartment cleared out. The troll cops leave immediately, thank god, and then in the morning you have to break it to Eridan that he can’t go with Feferi and Rose, and that Feferi is not his kismesis by any stretch of the imagination. He doesn’t look convinced on the second item, but he does take his leave. 

Rose has actually brought clothes and real shoes for Feferi, which might have been Kanaya’s suggestion, and while Feferi dresses herself in your bedroom (you wince at the scraping noises you hear, which must be her horns hitting the ceiling), Rose makes a quick call. Thirty minutes later there’s a convertible waiting outside, being driven by a Latina-looking woman in a smart suit and sleek ponytail. “Hi, Alma,” Rose says with a little smile when you escort her and Feferi downstairs, and Alma tells her this is the only time she’s getting a favor like this, because like hell is she a chauffeur, not to mention Rose’s superior. But she smiles too. 

You head back upstairs, thinking of how sick of adventure you are. You think about things like groceries, and getting Gamzee some new clothes, and maybe tonight just getting blazed as fuck. You close your front door as best you can, putting on the chain with a sigh, and shout into the apartment, “Yo Gamz, how you feel about acid wash jeans?” 

There’s no response, so you venture into the living room, and then the bedroom. It’s not like your apartment is very _big_. You find him in the bathroom, and wow, maybe you should have paid him better attention earlier this morning. He looks like shit, and you don’t think you can blame this on the weed. It looks like sometime while you were hemming and hawwing down on the sidewalk with goodbyes and promises about your door, he ran into the bathroom to puke. He looks at you over his shoulder. 

“I ain’t feel right.” That’s all he gets to say, because after that he kind of slumps down onto the floor in that not-so-conscious way. 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and on that lovely note, let's have some fanart! 
> 
> two [awesome](http://mulattafury.tumblr.com/post/29966807895/dave-and-rose-again-this-time-from-nuclearstuck) [pieces](http://mulattafury.tumblr.com/post/30224700607/sollux-because-nuclearstuck) by mulattafury, [a hot equius](http://kiwitank.tumblr.com/post/30086499903/nukestuck-equius) by kiwitank, and then narco cheered me up with [this adorable art here](http://fatfeferi.tumblr.com/post/30017444617/narcoleptic95-replied-to-your-post-fatfeferi-bad) when i was feeling down C: also, another [nukestuck dave by me](http://soporhugs.tumblr.com/post/30002090994/i-aint-your-fuckin-damsel-in-distress-dave-from) but that's not as interesting! 
> 
>  
> 
> ...so yeah if you think this is the end you obviously haven't been paying attention


End file.
